


The Cuckoo Father

by Luki



Category: Katekyou Hitman Reborn!
Genre: Discussion of Abortion, F/M, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Mildly Dubious Consent, One Night Stands, One-Sided Relationship, Pre-Canon, Shamal is Hayato's Father
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-28
Updated: 2017-01-28
Packaged: 2018-09-20 10:38:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,107
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9487517
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Luki/pseuds/Luki
Summary: When Shamal is 12 years old, he falls in love.It’s the biggest mistake of his life.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Yes, I KNOW I should be working on my other fics, but this is what happens when it gets late and you start brainstorming crazy ideas to add to current fics. I was just musing how Shamal might react around Lavina in Generation Cross since he clearly took care of Gokudera in canon (and canonically, Gokudera is about the ONLY person on the planet Shamal gives a damn about). Sure, maybe he’s just friends of the family, but considering how he treats Bianchi that didn’t sit well with me. That got me thinking that maybe Shamal was friends with Lavina, and he tried to do right by Gokudera for her…and then I started falling down a deep dark rare-pair-with-really-bad-ending slope and this fic is my desperate attempt to get out before it kills me.

**The Cuckoo Father**

When Shamal is 12 years old, he falls in love.

It’s the biggest mistake of his life.

He was born sick.  His body is a weak, frail, pathetic little thing.  If he can make it from his bed to his desk without help, he considers it a good day.  All he has is this room, and the mountain of medical textbooks his family supply him with.

If he was a civilian, he’d probably have the love and support of his family as they nursed him through his treatments and fevers.  However, his family is mafia, which means he has to find a way to pull his own weight since he can’t fight.  His parents are already long gone – his mother in childbirth, his father in a hit gone wrong, so it’s just the boss and his underlings forced to take care of a leech that’s utterly useless.

Eventually, they figured if he had to be stuck indoors anyway, he might as well spend his time researching ways to keep him alive, and as an added bonus, teach him how to keep his family alive in the future.  It’s not like they’re going to invest any money in keeping him functional without any collateral. 

He’s making pretty good headway considering he’s still so young.  Having quite literally _nothing else_ to do with his life helps with the progress.

One afternoon, while he’s migraine deep in something regarding red and white blood cells (to be honest he’s stopped paying attention a good ten minutes ago), he hears laughter coming from the building next door.  It’s been empty for months despite a ridiculously low price tag – though to be fair the last family left in body bags and most of the ground floor is now open plan – so getting new neighbours is interesting enough to get him out of the tomes.

His window looks directly into the smaller bedroom on the second floor.  There are men dumping boxes into the room, with two of them hauling in a bed.  Seconds later, they’re moving out, and bringing in a piano, setting it next to the wall with the window by its side in perfect view.

Once the instrument is in place, a much smaller figure dumps a box onto the mattress, pulling out sheaths of paper and sitting on the piano’s stool. 

She’s about his age, with long silver hair and a love of frilly dresses.  A moment later, Shamal pauses as the keys ring out through the window. 

It’s…awful.  But in the I’ve-just-started-learning-this-piece-and-haven’t-quite-figured-out-what-I’m-doing-way rather than a lack of talent.

He keeps listening regardless, eventually leaving his desk and supporting himself on the windowsill as he watches the girl practice.  Her face is impossible to see from this angle, but Shamal can almost picture her biting her lip as she fumbles through the steps.

He listens long enough that he can actually hear the improvement in her performance.  After a good hour, she’s still not quite mastered the piece but she can get almost halfway through without too many obvious errors.  There’s a quirky playfulness that comes through sometimes, as if the musician knows the right key but can’t help but pick the wrong one just for the reaction.  Or maybe he’s just been listening for too long.

His books are forgotten, and his body is half slumped on the windowsill, eyes drooping in relaxation as the notes fade.  Suddenly, a hideous explosion of sound rocks through the air, and Shamal jerks up, squawking in surprise.

“Ack!”

He stumbles to the ground, knocking his head and wincing in pain.  Eventually, he stumbles to his feet and pulls himself up.  The girl has stood up from her seat, lifting her arms from the keys – clearly she’s just slammed her limbs down to create the violent sound – and grinning like a loon.

“Are you all right?” She asks.  “I only meant to surprise you.”

He lifts a hand up and gives a shaky wave.

“I’m fine, I’m fine” he chokes.  “Legs just forgot they had a function for a moment.”

She giggles, and sticks out a hand through the window, even though it’s clear it will never reach him.

“I’m Lavina.  It’s nice to meet you.”

Shamal smiles back, and sticks out his own.

“I’m Shamal.”

They mock shaking hands, and Lavina walks away as she hears a call from within her home.  Shamal watches her leave with a bitter smile, before returning to his books.

Hopefully Lavina needs to study the piano as much as he needs to study medicine.

* * *

It probably shouldn’t have, but learning that Lavina’s family weren’t involved in the mafia came as a shock.  Nearly everyone in this neighbourhood had some kind of ties.  It’s a bad kind of revelation, because Shamal’s just spent the last ten minutes ranting about his uncle’s last hit which went so badly Shamal’s pretty sure said uncle is heading for an underwater coffin.  Sad – his uncle’s one of the few people in this family that don’t treat him like a leper, but rules are rules.  It’s only when he stops and takes in Lavina’s look of utter shock that he realises his mistake.

Breaking omerta is serious business.  It doesn’t matter that he’s twelve, his position is precarious enough as it is.

Thankfully, Lavina seems more impressed than terrified.  She leans out of her window, eyes wide.

“So…are you going to be a Boss?”

He debates about answering, before deciding to jump right in.

“Nope, I’m too far down the line.  I’m going to be the family doctor.  Or a hitman.”

“A Doctor or a hitman” She repeats, jaw dropping.  “But…isn’t that kind of…really different jobs?”

Well, yes.  But the family wants him to be a doctor.  Shamal is getting to the point where he doesn’t particularly want to keep anyone else alive.  He’s starting to put together a theory regarding mosquitoes and viral transfer that might actually keep him breathing while being deadly to anyone else.  It has some very interesting possibilities.

However, as impressed as Lavina might be, Shamal has a feeling that her friend considering mass genocide of his family _might_ be a little too much.

“I don’t really enjoy medicine” he finally says.  “But a hitman has a lot of freedom.  I want to be freelance, be my own boss – a mafia doctor will always be forced into a family.”

“Can’t you just become a civilian doctor?” Lavina asks, and Shamal bursts into laughter at how only a civilian would think that was an option.  Maybe, maybe, it would have been possible when his Dad died, if the boss had decided to cast him out, but he didn’t.

Lavina isn’t happy with his reaction.  Her face puffs out and she turns an awkward shade of red.

“It’s not that funny!”

Shamal’s fist slams down on the wooden sill as he tries to get his breathing under control.

“S-sorry” he stutters.  “It’s just, you really don’t get it.  When you’re in the Mafia, you’re in for life.  There’s no retiring or leaving.  The only way out is in a coffin.”

“But…you’re just a kid.”

Shamal smirks.

“In the mafia, there’s no such thing.  What about you?  What will the great Lavina become?”

He’s almost taken aback at the fierce burning that ignites in Lavina’s eyes.  Her entire body seems poised to take on the entire world.

“I,” she says with absolute finality.  “Am going to become the greatest pianist in Italy.”

The boy blinks in surprise at the confidence, before grinning.  “Really?  Don’t you think that’s reaching a little far.”

She turns her nose in the air, though she’s still smiling.

“Nope.  I won’t accept anything less.”

He completely believes her.

* * *

Shamal is 16, and heading to Medical School with an ID that claims he’s 20.  Lavina is moving on too – some private music school in the countryside that will take her from a budding to flourished performer.  It’s half the reason Shamal pushed for the school – he wasn’t even sure he wanted to be a doctor considering how long he’d been forced to find his own cures, but his experiments are starting to pay off – he can make it out of the house for extended periods.  That’s the only reason he’s could get permission to leave.  That freedom is almost worth continuing medicine.  He much preferred the idea of being an assassin, but at the moment, both are frustratingly intertwined.

He goes over to Lavina’s the night before she’s supposed to leave.  He lies on her bed while she performs a medley and they speak about the conversations they’ve had.  Over the last four years, Lavina has been the only light in Shamal’s life.

The moon is full, and Lavina is smiling, so Shamal takes a shot.  He kisses her, chickening out at the last minute and hits her cheek instead of her lips.  Lavina freezes, and Shamal draws back.

The disappointment must have been obvious in his eyes, because Lavina seems more sympathetic than mad.

“I’m sorry Shamal” she tells him.  “But I don’t feel that way about you.”

“Do you not like me” he asks.  “Or is it because I’m mafia?”

He kind of hopes it’s the first one.  He can’t change being mafia.  Lavina gives him a half shrug.

“It’s not that I don’t like you” she insists.  “You’re a good friend.  I just don’t see you as a romantic partner.” 

Of course she doesn’t.  He’s just the sickly kid that lives next door, why would he ever have thought otherwise.

“And, honestly, the whole mafia thing would probably become an issue eventually.”

Shamal nods, sticking his hands into his pockets and stepping back.  Lavina watches him with worry.

“Can we still be friends?”

He answers with a smile that’s only half false.

“Of course,” he promises.  “Not getting rid of me that easily.”

* * *

 

They manage to maintain contact for almost a year before it becomes staggered.  Between Medical Schools torturous schedule and Lavina’s incessant practice, they have almost no spare time.  It’s not a conscious decision, just two people finding their social life dropping down the ladder of necessity.

When Shamal’s finally the age his fake ID had stated, he returns home.  Lavina’s house is empty – the family moved on when Lavina’s practicing had started to pay off.  It’s for the best.  If they were still in the area, he’d need to infect them too, and that could be a problem long term.

Because he’s still friends with Lavina, distant as they might be, and by morning, there will be no one left in the neighbourhood who even _recognises_ the name Shamal.

He uncaps a few mosquitoes and has sends them towards the nearby houses to get to work.  It had taken years of experiments, a quick foray into bio-engineering, and some black alley science deals to get it to work, but he’d managed to develop a brand-new species of mosquito – identified by the three-pronged needle on their face.  Trident Mosquitoes, frozen in capsules identifying whatever virus they were carrying.  The perfect method of execution. 

As he walks up to the door, he unleashes five more new-born girls.  When the door opens, they fly inside unnoticed.

Throughout the day, he restrains himself.  Forces him not to react to the snide reactions and insults, the poking and prodding as his ‘family’ wonder how he’s not dead yet.  He even manages to get through the mandatory proof of his skills by giving the right hand of the boss a physical.  His skills apparently pass muster, as the boss declares that ‘not drowning you at birth’ was the right decision after.  The glass in his hand makes a sickening crack, but Shamal keeps his cool, and everyone finishes the meal without issue.

That night, the entire house is awake with screams and moaning.  Everyone has lost control of their bowels, and have thrown up everything they can without ejecting organs.  It doesn’t take long for the Boss to figure out the culprit, and Shamal is summoned to the Boss’s office.  The man is fearfully pale, and actively restraining himself from dry heaving, and Shamal finally allows the smug grin to slide onto his face.

The Boss wants him to undo whatever it was he’s done.  Shamal agrees…if the Boss is willing to cut him from the family, and transfer whatever inheritance his parents had left that was currently in the family’s collective accounts.

The man clearly wants to refuse on principle, and lets him know he’ll kill Shamal before he lets this kind of power slip out of the family.  Shamal just tells him that if he does, the family will soon be joining him.

It’s a battle of wills.  The Boss has to choose his family or his pride.  Both are valuable, but in the end, with the pleading eyes of his family looking through the door, he finally succumbs.

Free of a family, and a last name, Shamal unleashes the mosquito that’ll counteract the toxins.  Seconds after getting bitten, the family falls unconscious.  The Boss immediately tries to shoot him, but Shamal kicks him to the ground until he joins them.  Then he gets to work.

As much as he’d like to kill everyone in this room, the Vindice will make sure he pays for it.  Instead, he needs to be tricky.  When the family wakes up, they’ll all be cured…but they’ll have no memory of Shamal.  At all.

It took forever to figure out how to isolate the necessary cells in order to create a virus that would attack specific memories.  The mosquitoes actually had to be designed on the computer before he could create a physical model, but he’d tested them on his roommate, and he’d found success.

He spends the next few hours painstakingly removing any trace of him from the computer and physical files, and an hour before life returns to the house, Shamal walks out a literal stranger.

* * *

Six months later, ‘Trident Shamal’ has made such a name for himself, he can buy himself a fancy house with more room than he knows what to do with.  Between his pay checks and the inheritance in his bank account, there’s no shoving him into the tiny room in the far corner anymore.

True to form, families are still circling him.  Shamal still works as a civilian Doctor to keep his knowledge sharp, and he’s becoming very well known.  Add that to the trail of dead he’s left only after a few years on the job, well, that’s a catch for any family.

Even the Vongola’s Varia squad issue an invitation.  Shamal refuses, and then flees the country for a few months just in case they react badly.  Vongola do not appreciate being told no.

For the first time in his life, he’s getting to decide who can approach him.  He’s desirable, and he’s milking that for all it’s worth.  Families flock and worship for his medical skills, and pay through the nose for his assassinations.

But the best part of being free is Lavina.  When he walks out of his home, he writes her a letter, telling him he’d finally achieved his dreams of becoming a Doctor Assassin.  She writes back, and when he first walks into his new home, she’s the first visitor.  He spins around in the lobby, grinning like a loon.  It’s twice the size of his old family’s.

Lavina, true to form, takes once glance and grins at him.

“Overcompensating much?”

Shamal just laughs.

* * *

Lavina might not have been planning a criminal career, but she hadn’t been slacking the last four years either.  A pianist with a career that would go global with little effort, Shamal had no doubt.

For the next year, whenever she was performing and he didn’t have any commitments he couldn’t get out of, Shamal was there, front row to watch.  And always first in line to go backstage and congratulate her.

One time, on his way to the back, he ran into the Boss of a family he worked with regularly.  The man had never treated Shamal with anything less than total respect, and the Doctor kind of like him.  The Mafioso clearly desired to meet the pianist he’d spent the last several hours listening to in devotion.  He wasn’t alone – Lavina found herself dissuading fan after fan, such was her skill and beauty.

So Shamal didn’t think much of helping the man get through security.  It was a favour to meet someone they respected, and that could only be beneficial to Shamal in future.

Lavina smiles at Shamal’s expected arrival, but when she gives him questioning eyes after glancing at his guest, Shamal introduces them, before spotting glasses of wine at a table for the musicians and excusing himself to grab a few.

He picks up two white for himself and Lavina, then turns back to ask the Mafioso’s preference-

His words die in his throat as he spots the two standing just a little too close.  It was common nature to dismiss the desire in the Mafioso’s eyes – Lavina was a beautiful woman after all.  But for all Lavina was feigning dismissal, Shamal knows her too well.  There’s lust in those eyes.  The same desire she had when she said she’d become the greatest pianist in Italy.

Glass shatters in his hand.

Life truly did hate him.

* * *

He doesn’t stop her.

From the day they met, Lavina had him wrapped around her little finger.  There was little he wouldn’t do for her, and she knew it.  So, when she decided to accept a Mafioso’s affections – a Mafioso _that wasn’t Shamal_ – he reminded her of the dangers, and when she chides him, warning that she’s no longer a child and she can do what she wants, he steps back.

It might just be the hardest thing he’s ever done, but there’s no other option that doesn’t result in losing Lavina anyway.  All he can do is watch and hope it ends congenially enough that he doesn’t have to wipe out an entire Familia to keep Lavina alive when the Don finally loses interest.

Six months into Lavina’s descent into Mistress territory, and it looks as if that time might be coming.  There’s a major turf war brewing, and all the local Mafioso are a hair trigger away from turning it into a major event.  He doesn’t have time for his bit on the side.

Shamal gets a call one night, after Lavina had been abandoned one too many times, and arrives at her modest flat with a bottle of very fine scotch.  He ends up sitting on her couch, perhaps just a little too close, as they knock back shots.  Lavina’s no lightweight – she can match Shamal cup for cup if she truly wanted to, but the doctor can tell sober is the last thing she wants to be right now.

A few hours later, he finds the woman leaning into him, arms starting to snake around his shoulders.  When Shamal moves, she readjusts to lean into his chest.

“I don’t know what I’m doing Shamal” she moans.  “He has a wife, he has a _daughter_.  He has this entire _world_ that I don’t get to see, a world _you_ know more about than I do.  I know this story won’t end well, so why can’t I bring myself to stop?”

Shamal sighs, pulling her in close and hugging tight.

“You’ve never wanted easy Princess” he says.  “You know what you want, and you’ve never had any reason not to go for it.  Think this is the first time you hit a wall you can’t break down with sheer optimism and hard work.”

The chuckle that emerges is rough and awkward.

“God…” she moans.  “Why does this have to be so complicated?  Why can’t it just be easy?  How am I supposed to deal with this?”

Shamal bites his lip, and then decides he’s drunk enough to offer.

“Maybe you just need one uncomplicated night?”

Lavina pulls herself up to stare him in the eye.  But there’s no pity, just consideration.

“Shamal, you can’t offer me uncomplicated.  I know how you feel-“

“I know” Shamal admits.  “But I also know how you feel.  If anything was going to happen between us it would have happened by now.  If this is all I can get I’ll take it and be glad of it.”

And god has there ever been a truer sentence?  Shamal’s used to scraps, he can take being thrown away at the end of the night.  Just let him have _the night._

He’s willing to explain all of that, but he never gets the chance.  Whatever Lavina see’s through booze filled eyes convinces her, and her lips are on his.

Shamal barely hesitates, his arms going under her legs to pull her up and carry her to the bedroom.

A minute later, they’re on the bed.

* * *

Shamal keeps his word.  After that night, nothing changes.  He never brings it up, and neither does Lavina.  Given the hangover’s both of them had, they barely remember most of it.  But the spring in her step and smile on her face the days after mean Shamal can’t even consider regretting their one surrender.  It’s a memory he’ll be carrying close to his shrivelled heart for the rest of his life.

He only sees her in passing after that.  A week or two later, the fights die down and she’s back on the arm of her beau, while Shamal throws himself into hired hits.  Nobody wants the instigators to rile up again, and its keeping him busy.

Then, nearly two months after their mistake, Shamal comes home to find Lavina waiting for him. 

At first he’s excited.  Her first words make him less so.

“I’m pregnant.”

* * *

It takes Shamal a stupidly long time to connect the dots and do the math in his head.

“Two months?”

Lavina nods, eyes dark.  Shamal just stares at her, wondering if she’s going to make him say out loud what they both know.

“What…what are the odds that lover boy’s the Dad?”

The pianist arms are wrapped around her, hands clenched in fabric.  “It’s…not likely” she admits.  “Not impossible, but the whole reason that night happened was because he was…busy a lot of the time.”

Shamal has to sit down.  Has to process what she’s saying. 

Lavina is pregnant.  It’s highly likely the kid is his.

He’d held back.  He’d understood his position in Lavina’s life.  He’d made his peace with that a long time ago.

But this?  This changes things.

“Marry me” he says quickly.  “You’re a Mafioso’s mistress.  If you tell him the baby’s his, you’ll get two days and then never see him again.  But if you had another lover, legally married, he can’t touch you or the kid.”

“Shamal-“

“I know you don’t love me” Shamal interrupts.  “At least not the way I want you to.  But you said yourself that there’s no happy ending with your relationship.  Hell, you can continue it even with wedding rings, it’s not like he has any room to judge!”

“Shamal, even if I could agree to a marriage of convenience, you _hate_ kids.”

“I don’t _hate_ them…”

“Oh please, my cousin once came by with her baby and you drew red spots on your face to get out of coming round until they were gone.”

He winces – yeah, he’d forgotten about that.  Growing up with his only friend being someone he spoke with via his window hadn’t given him much patience with brats.  Children are something he’s always seen like tigers – best at a distance, preferably with security measures between you and them. 

Still…

“Lavina.  For you, I’d handle a goddamn litter if I had to” he insists.  “I’ll learn to better with them, to be the father you need.”

“And what about when I’m not around?” Lavina snaps right back.  “What’ll happen to the baby then?”

Shamal frowns, and Lavina clams up.

“…Lavina?”

She turns away.

“What do you mean, ‘when you’re not around?’” Shamal asks.

For a moment, Lavina stands frozen, back to him.  When she turns to face him, it’s with the most horrifying smile Shamal has ever seen.

Her next words shake him to the very core.

“I’m dying, Shamal.”

* * *

Dying is putting it lightly.  Lavina’s self destructing from the inside out.  Her blood tests give him chills.

Part of him wonders if it was his fault.  He’s got so many virus’s flitting around his body it’s not impossible that one of them could have transferred over.  Hell, if he could infect her with a nine month parasite, what else could have followed his swimmers?

The more rational part of him knows that’s being foolish.  Lavina has already told him she’d been getting worse for years, not willing to tell him when she realised how pressured he was by his own family to study medicine.  She’s only telling him now to make sure the kid makes it.  Her life can be measured in a handful of years, and the pregnancy is going to speed things up.

He immediately wants to tell her to get an abortion.  Shamal can’t experiment with treatments while she’s pregnant, and there’s no way they’ll have enough time if she actually carries to term.

But one look at her face has his arguments dying on his lips. 

Even if she dies in labour, she’s having the baby.

A baby she already knows she can’t keep.  That she’ll give to a man that might not be the father.  Shamal cannot understand that thought process, no matter how hard he tries.

So for the next nine months, he casts aside all jobs and responsibilities and throws himself into being Lavina’s personal nurse.  Mistresses carrying Mafioso heirs have very few options that won’t sell them out, so she’s moved into Shamal’s mansion with a no-visitor rule.  Even her lover is only seeing the sonograms when Shamal hand delivers them.

Lavina is elated when they make it past the twelve-week mark with no issues.  Shamal smiles, but fingers a capsule holding a mosquito that would have caused termination with no suspicion.  It’s been agony not to use it, but if Lavina gets bitten, she’ll know in a heartbeat what happened.

Unfortunately, even though the baby’s chances have increased, Lavina’s have dropped.  Her morning sickness had been tolerable, but the further along she got, the worse it became.  By the eight month, she was barely able to get up, her sickness and the toll of carrying the infant hitting her hard.  It took everything Shamal had not to force the brat out early.

Thankfully, the kid had the same idea.  A week early, Lavina found herself in labour.  Six hours later, a baby with silver hair, green eyes and a very powerful set of lungs entered the world.

Lavina was drugged to the gills, just coherent enough to hold the baby in her arms but incapable of answering questions for the birth certificate.  It doesn’t matter though – Shamal’s been by her side most of the year, he knows the answers.  When she’d learned she was having a boy, Lavina had chosen ‘Hayato.’ 

He fills out the form with ease, pausing only once.

Name of Father.

He hesitates.  Glances over at the dozing mother and child.

And signs a name that isn’t his own.

* * *

Two days later, Hayato is taken by his father.

Three days later, Lavina is gone.

Shamal never sees her again.

* * *

It’s not entirely for lack of trying.  Being in hiding for so long had damaged her career, and discovering she’d in fact carried a Mafioso’s child had all but killed it dead, so none of her normal spots work.  He does eventually track her down in a rundown area just a few euro away from being slums, playing piano in a bar where most were probably too drunk or drugged to even notice.

Part of him wants to storm in and drag her out.  Take her back to his mansion kicking and screaming and spend what little time she has left constantly working on treatments to extend her time.  If nothing else, allow her to live in comfort until she dies.

But Lavina must know that’s an option.  She knows exactly how far Shamal would go, has gone, for her.  To stay here knowing she doesn’t have to…Shamal stays back, and studies possible treatments on his own.

If he can come up with a cure, then he can approach her.  When he can fulfil his promise, then she can come home where she belongs.

* * *

It’s a pipe dream.  Three years later he’s no closer to finding a cure than he was the day she told him.  He’s come up with a dozen new diseases to unleash on unsuspecting targets, but nothing that will save Lavina’s life. 

Then he gets the phone call.

Lavina was dead, her car thrown off a cliff at full speed.  It reeks of sabotage.

Shamal should be angry.  Should be storming into that damn castle and slaughtering every last member of the familiar for their actions.  But he doesn’t. 

Because if Lavina was killed by someone else, then he hadn’t failed her.  He’d promised she wouldn’t die from her disease – a ridiculous promise he’d had no chance of keeping.

Except someone had kept it for him.

Doesn’t stop him from heading to the nearest bar to drink it dry.

* * *

Things start to go downhill after that.  He’d never really bothered with dating before – what’s the point when you’re completely in love with someone who didn’t look his way.  But when Lavina’s dead and buried, he starts getting drunk and going home with anything in a skirt that says yes.

Hell, he’s a hitman with a motley of temporary diseases that can cause paralysis and limit mental faculties.  Even the yes is optional when he’s feeling lazy.

He even starts fingering his memory mosquitoes, wondering if Lavina needs to be put to rest in his head too.

This is when he meets Reborn.

He knows of the Arcobaleno only through rumour.  They’ve never really run into the same circles – but apparently, something about Shamal had peaked the cursed Hitman’s interest.

They meet in some dark bar which is sorely lacking in any kind of female entertainment, and Shamal is only just aware of someone sitting next to him at the bar when he sends a whisky over with a cockroach dancing along the rim.

When he turns round, the baby has a dozen on his person, on his suit, face and hat – though they’re steering clear of the lizard also sitting on the brim.

“I hear you and I have a similar passion for insects.”

Shamal grins.

Well, he’s not wrong.  He accepts the drink, raising it in salute before enjoying.

Reborn’s insects scurry away once Reborn has his attention, and the baby sips at his drink before glancing up at the doctor.

“My sources tell me you are in possession of a very unique virus.  One that affects specific memories in its victim while leaving all other mental faculties intact.”

Shamal almost spits out his drink.

The whole _point_ of that virus is that nobody remembers it.  The only person who even knew he was working on it was his roommate, and **he** doesn’t remember.

The hitman chuckles at his shock.

“You did a thorough job, but as much as your family didn’t speak of you, there were still some outside who knew of you.  I’d recommend a wider net next time.”

Shamal gritted his teeth, mentally reviewing who might still know his past.  Sure, Lavina and her family knew, but they’re civilian, and he’s not even sure Lavina’s parents are still alive anymore.  Who the hell did he miss?

Dammit…he’ll worry about that later.  Right now, he’s got a Hitman to deal with.

“That virus isn’t for sale” he warns, glass dropping to the table.  “I don’t care what you pay or what you need someone to forget.”

The hitman just smiles.

“What if **I** need to forget?”

That’s…interesting, and rather similar to his earlier train of thought.  Reborn has his attention.

“I need to forget me” Reborn explains, toddler hand tight against his own glass.  “Not that I’m a hitman, or what I’m capable of.  Just…who I was before I was an Arcobaleno.”

“It could be dangerous” Shamal replies, although his mind is already mulling over exactly how to do something that precise.  “That’s a lot of memories – there’s no way you’d still be the same person afterwards, no matter how good a job I did.”

“That’s fine” Reborn says, a little too quickly.  “Right now, remembering who I was before is getting in the way of who I am **now.**   I need you to kill that version of me.”

“What’s in it for me?” Shamal asks, supporting his head on an arm leaning on the bar.

“An alliance for one” Reborn promises.  “I know you have trouble keeping families at bay, having me on your side will strengthen your choice to go solo.  There’s also a considerable fee, equitable to an assassination for my ‘death.’”

Shamal mulls it over, and as much as he never planned to use that virus again…Reborn’s alliance is _very_ tempting.

“Give me a month to figure out the quirks” he decides.

* * *

When he infects Reborn with the altered virus, the hitman is unconscious for three whole days. 

At first, he panics, positive he’s screwed up and every other ally of the Arcobaleno will be after his hide.  Then he shakes it off, checks Reborn’s vitals, and realises the sheer volume of memory just needs extra time.

The infection is successful.  When Reborn wakes up, he knows he’s a hitman, that he’s an Arcobaleno, and that he was someone before that, but chose to forget.

It clearly takes a little time for his brain to accept this new setting, but he adjusts frightfully well.

A week later, he calls Shamal with a job that requires his assassination skills rather than his medical ones, and off he goes.

A month later, and it’s a medical job.

Somewhere in between the fifth and eighth job, he realises he’s now permanently in the hitman’s pocket until he dies.  After a long drinking session and a vigorous night with a mostly willing woman, he decides there are worse places he could be.

Reborn at least, offers the regular distractions Shamal has come to crave.  And doesn't bat an eye when he gets arrested for going after woman he knows he shouldn't.

* * *

Ironically, he barely even remembers why Lavina would have been heading to the castle that day until he’s summoned back and comes face to face with a four year old wearing her eyes.

The kid is all Lavina.  Her eyes, her hair, her complexion.  Which is good.  The one thing both Shamal and the Master of this house can agree upon was the perfection that was Lavina – Hayato was her kid.  The father doesn’t matter.

Except Shamal keeps looking.  Trying to figure out if the brats got his chin, or his nose.  He looks a lot like his pink haired sister…but the eldest child has nearly all _her_ mother’s features so that hardly helps – her father clearly has a type.

At least the kid’s healthy.  There’s no sign of Lavina’s ailments or anything that could be traced to Shamal.

With that in mind, he fully intends to keep his distance.  Just because he’s in the same house doesn’t mean he has to interact with the brat.

Unfortunately, it turns out Hayato is part cat, and determined to seek out the one person in the building who isn’t interested in his company.  The staff think it’s adorable, the Doctor having his own awkward duckling following him around.  Shamal’s ready to jump out of a window.

The worst bit is when the kid sneaks into the castle’s medical clinic where Shamal’s taking care of some minor injuries that really can’t be taken to a hospital.  Shamal takes his eyes off him for five seconds, FIVE SECONDS, and instantly regrets it when he finally catches sight of him again.

Somehow, somewhere, the kids got his hands on a pair of scissors.  Gone at his shaggy bob with the vigour only a child can.

What remains is something fiercely resembling Shamal’s own mop.  The similarity is only heightened when the maid tries to fix it, using Shamal as a reference for salvage.

Shamal bolts the second it’s polite.  Not that it helps – apparently, his new alliance with Reborn only puts off the families he wasn’t already interacting with.  Those he already worked want to keep him close since an Arcobaleno can be a valuable ally to have.  The Boss wants him over every other month, clearly trying to convince Shamal to be the families personal physician, but Shamal’s having none of it.

After the third attempt to get him to stay, he refuses, stating a brand new declaration.  He hates men.  From now on, he’ll only treat woman.

When he’s caught nearly groping the man’s wife, suddenly having him as the personal physician doesn’t seem like such a good idea.

It doesn’t stop other families he tentatively works with swooping in, but Shamal’s declaration, hands and zero impulse control quickly cut them down.

* * *

 That, _really,_ should have been the last time he ever saw Hayato.  Of course, fate has always hated him, so it makes sense that four years later, he’d walk in to find a silver haired brat sitting on his couch reading a medical textbook and scowling furiously.

Apparently, the maids hadn’t been smart enough to keep their damn mouths shut.  Gokudera knows his piano teacher was his real mother.  He also knows that Shamal knew her, and is point blank refusing to go home.

“Tell me about her” he begs, fists clenched and eyes watering.

He should be calling up the boys caretakers.  Tossing him outside and washing his hands of it all the way he had before.

Instead, he digs out a photo album, and speaks of the day he first met Lavina for the first time. 

Even half of Lavina can still make him buckle.  That’s a little disconcerting to know.

* * *

It’s a week before Hayato’s family tracks him down.  Probably the paperwork the kid had forged to get his last name changed to Gokudera had tipped them off.  Shamal wakes up to find the kid hiding somewhere in the house while a mafia contingent made a home for themselves in his lounge.

He’s armed with every mosquito he’s got in the house when he goes to sit down.  It’ll be hard, but he’s relatively certain he can wipe them all out before they can kill him if they’re here to make an example.

Turns out, what they want is the exact opposite.

“You want me to take care of him?” Shamal yelps.

The man in fronts of him nods.

“Hayato…doesn’t trust anyone in the family anymore” he admits.  “I don’t know how to help him.  He wants something we can’t give him.  I think you might succeed where we can’t.”

“I…am really not good with kids” Shamal insists, but the man just looks at him, before uttering words that chill Shamal to the core.

“I know he might not be mine.”

Hands twitch for mosquitoes, but his guest just leans back.

“I knew before he was born.  But I never cared.  Because he was Lavina’s.  And I’ll hold tight to what little I can.”

Hands relax.

“Then why hand him over?” Shamal asks.

The man sighs. 

“Because he wants to know about his mother.  I only had her in my life a moment, as much as I would have given anything for more.”

Funny words from a man who had probably ordered her execution, but now’s probably not the time to bring it up.

“But you knew her from when you were children.  You knew her hopes and dreams and what she wanted for Hayato.  Even if you didn’t want Hayato, can you at least do it for Lavina?”

What’s Shamal supposed to say to that?

* * *

Eventually, he gets used to having a pre-teen hanging around his home.  He does confuse the hell out of the brat when he decides to introduce every woman he brings home as his sister (no way in hell is he giving The Talk at this age, Doctor or no Doctor).

As an added bonus, Hayato has decided he’s never returning to his family.  He’s going to go freelance, until he finds the perfect Boss, and become his right-hand man. 

Shamal doesn’t quite know why the kid is giving up heirship to be a second-in-command, but hey, each to his own.  What he does have a problem with, is Hayato begging him for the right to use Trident Mosquitoes.

Now, there’s no doubt in Shamal’s mind that Hayato could learn how to handle them.  He’s had the best schooling mafia can buy, and there’s no doubt the boy would throw himself into training with vigour.  The look in his eye suggests fighting him on this will work as well as it did on his mother.

But it’s hard enough looking at a kid with Lavina’s eyes and his haircut without teaching him how to fight like him.  That’s a step too far. 

That said, if he doesn’t teach him something, the brat will go out and get himself killed trying to teach himself.  Lavina will never forgive him for that, so he needs something dangerous, and ranged.

His old family had a thing for dynamite, and although it’s not his first choice, Shamal still remembers most of the tricks.  A quick stunt with some paper airplanes, and Hayato is sold. 

* * *

On the list of things Shamal could have lived a long time without knowing, Lavina’s son having a bleeding _death wish_ is right near the top.

The whole point of teaching him dynamite was to keep him _out_ of danger!  What the hell was wrong with him?  Doesn’t he know how important his life is?  How much Lavina struggled to bring him into this world?  What right does he have, to throw his life away so easily?

The only option is to stop teaching him, but that just results in the kid running away, again.

Shamal decides to let him go.  If the kid is that desperate to die, he sure as hell isn’t going to stand there and watch.

* * *

The next time he runs into Hayato, it’s when Reborn calls him to a tiny town called Namimori in Japan.  He’s gone from a surly kid to an angry teenager.  Considering the stories he’d heard, the teen had learned the hard way just how much blood mattered to Mafioso.  Leaving his family was a black mark that was hard to rise above.  Being mixed blood made it next to impossible. 

However, with all this intel, he’d expected to find a feral wildcat, half dead and clinging to scraps.

Instead...Hayato’s _thriving._

Reborn is teaching the next heir of the Vongola, since the three _decent_ options are now dead.  He’s Hayato’s age, so Reborn brought him over for an audition. 

Shamal has little doubt Reborn brought him here because of his connection to Shamal.  Especially when said heir manages to convince him to heal him (and about time too, there was no way he was going to let a guy who was making Hayato enjoy life again die, but he needed to keep up appearances), and Reborn suggests in that tone that isn’t _optional,_ that Shamal take a job at the school in case the heir needed his skills again.

Shamal honestly doesn’t know why he doesn’t just jump on the next plane out of town, but he does as he’s told.

When Hayato finds out he’s staying, he reacts as expected.  Violently and angrily.

But when he’s run out of huff and puff, he drops his eyes and looks to the side.

“I’ve missed you.”

Shamal doesn’t have time to reply – the teen bolts down the hall and out of site.

He honestly isn’t sure why he’s smiling.

* * *

 When the Varia incident happens, Shamal is probably the only person who actually enjoys it.  Because with their arrival, Sawada Tsunayoshi finally manages to shatter the remainders of Hayato’s death wish, forcing him to value his own life – something that Shamal will never be able to repay.

However, when Reborn and the brats go missing for several days, only to arrive looking suspiciously older and far too old in the eyes, he pins the Arcobaleno down and demands an explanation.

Apparently, it involves time travel and having to beat a God-Wannabe-Sky-Boss.  It doesn’t get any easier to handle no matter how he says it.

The worst part of it though, is when Hayato comes to his clinic at the school, taking a seat on a bed and fiddling with his hands, clearly nervous.

When he tells Shamal about the letters Bianchi had given him, it takes everything Shamal has not to react.

Lavina **had** died of her disease.  There was no assassination.  He’d failed her, and then let Hayato believe his father had done it.

Even if Shamal was going to the same place as Lavina when he died, he’ll never be able to face her again.

“Did you know?” Hayato asks accusingly.  “That she was dying?”

“No” Shamal lies quickly.  He never told Hayato, not sure how he’d take knowing his birth had drastically shortened her life, and it wasn’t something he liked to talk about anyway.

But that’s not the even the worst part.

“In the letters, my mom, she confesses something” Hayato admits.  “She said she took another lover, around the time I would have been…you know.”

“Conceived, popped in the oven, gone up the duff?” Shamal offers, choosing humour to hide the panic.  The teen just scowls.

“Could you be serious for one moment!” Hayato snaps.  “She didn’t give the name- “

Oh thank God.

“-But my Dad might not be my Dad!  I might have another family out there!”

Shamal sighs.  “Would it matter?  You’ve sworn yourself to the Vongola now.”

“That’s not the point” Gokudera mutters.  “I spent all this time trying to learn about my mom…but my Dad might still be out there.”

For a moment, Shamal stares at him, contemplating the options.

It would be so easy.  A few simple words and the truth could come out.  Hayato would be livid, especially with the lie about not knowing about her illness, but he was always mad at Shamal, he’d get over it.  He would know the truth, and for better or worse, Shamal could stop pretending the kid didn’t mean far more than he should to him.  For a single moment, he wants to do it.

Then that moment ends.

“Kid, stop worrying about things that don’t matter.  Your Dad’s your Dad.  End of story.”

“But what if-“

“Hayato, I did the blood tests myself” Shamal interrupts, choosing his words so that the lie will sound like the truth Gokudera needs to hear.  “He might have had doubts, but Lavina knew.”

Gokudera just stares at him.  It takes every ounce of Shamal’s mafia training not to buckle.

Finally, mercifully, the teen nods in understanding.

“Thanks, Shamal.  Sorry to bother you with this.”

Shamal laughs, hoping it masks the pain in his voice.

“Ah don’t sweat it, you’ve been coming to me for advice since forever.  Now, if you were looking for girl advice-“

“Gah!  I don’t need to hear about your pervy methods!” Gokudera shrieks, kicking his shins before storming off.  Shamal waits a moment, waiting until the teen is out of sight before leaning against the wall and lighting a cigarette.  It’s barely touched his lips when Reborn makes his appearance known, dropping to his shoulder from an unknown location.

“You’re really not going to tell him?”

Shamal glances over at his friend, before returning to his cigarette.  He’s not surprised Reborn knows – it would have been more surprising if he hadn’t.

“No” he says, a little taken aback at how confident he is in that assessment.  “It wouldn’t do either of us any favours.  This is how it has to be.”

Reborn hums, but doesn’t push, for which Shamal in undeniably grateful.  The hitman could have chosen to make this difficult for no reason other than his own amusement, and Shamal already has a list of sins long enough to want to avoid that.

At the end of the day, Hayato doesn’t need Shamal.  Is doing just fine without him.

He’s his mother’s son after all.


End file.
